To Chase the Dark Away
by Elbereth in April
Summary: I read this fascinating article on brainwashing and I had to write this about Vegeta's time with Frieza.


To Chase the Dark Away  
  
By Elbereth in April, Copyright 2002  
  
Disclaimer: I can only dream of owning DBZ.  
  
Bulma's POV:  
  
I heard a loud thump from the room next door--Vegeta's room. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes. Normally I would have stayed in bed, worrying about him, but minding my own business. But he'd barely gotten over a major injury when the gravity room blew up--so I got out of bed and went to check on him. Light was coming from under his door. I knocked.  
  
There was a long pause; then the door opened. I brushed past him before he could react, as I didn't expect him to invite me in.  
  
"I heard a noise--are you OK?" I asked, looking around his room.  
  
"Fine, woman. I just--I fell out of bed." He stared at me, scowling, arms crossed: his classic pose.  
  
I was puzzled. "Why did you fall out of bed? Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
He sneered at me and didn't answer. He was trying to hide it, but he looked pale and shaken. *Something* had disturbed him. He walked around me and opened his window. He stood by it and drew in a deep breath, as if he needed air.  
  
"What's the matter, Vegeta?"  
  
He wasn't ignoring me. He was staring at me intently. He just didn't want to answer. He left the window and went around the room, turning on more lights.  
  
"Are you afraid of the dark?" I prodded him, trying for a reaction. I regretted it instantly at the look he gave me.  
  
"Get out," he ordered, so severely that I started to obey. But he didn't *want* me to go, I could see that. He wanted me to stay and, like the lamps, help to chase the dark away.  
  
So I sat down on his bed and smiled at him. "Have you ever had that dream where you're in front of a bunch of people and suddenly you realize you're naked?"  
  
He sat down on the other side and stared at me. "No!"  
  
"Oh--maybe it's a human thing. How about where you go to school and the teacher asks you to turn in your homework and you didn't even know there was an assignment?"  
  
"No."  
  
I hadn't expected a yes to that. I don't even know if he had a formal education. I tried to think of something else, but then he said, somewhat hesitantly, "I've dreamed that I'm starting to fight an important battle against a strong opponent and when I reach for my ki, it's not there."  
  
I nodded in encouragement. That was probably the Saiyan equivalent.  
  
"And I used to dream that I was walking through the palace and all the Saiyans I passed were pointing at me and I couldn't figure out why until I noticed that I didn't have a tail." He snorted but his expression looked a bit sad. "Now that I really *don't* have a tail, I don't dream that one anymore."  
  
"So what was this dream about?"  
  
He stared out the window, seemingly debating about whether or not to answer. Then he began, very softly. "I dreamed I was back at Frieza's base. Everything was bigger, because I was young again--five. It was right after I got there, and I was in the Pit."  
  
"The Pit?" I asked in confusion.  
  
"It's a room," he explained in a dead-sounding voice, "at the bottom of Frieza's ship. Very small and totally dark. They put me there the first week I was a hostage and left me there. It was empty except for a bench-- but they took that away later. And there were rats. I killed those, but I wished I hadn't. At least they would have been company. . ."  
  
"How long were you there?"  
  
He looked at me. His eyes were wide and very black. He was trying to pretend he was emotionless, but the horror and pain were seeping through.  
  
"I don't know. The days all ran together. There was nothing but the dark. It smelled, too. There was just a sort of trough in the ground for-- for nature. And they only fed you every so many days. You started to go a little crazy after awhile. You'd hear things--see things that weren't there. There was a basin that had just a little stale water in it that you had to force yourself to ration because you didn't know when someone was coming back. . ."  
  
He swallowed hard. "And when the guard came he'd beat you and insult you and tell you that your father was a weakling who gave you up without a second thought because you weren't worth anything anyway, and laugh at you. . . and you were still so. . ." his voice was thick and his eyes were suspiciously bright as he choked on the words, "so--freaking grateful to see him because at least he was contact--you knew you hadn't been completely forgotten. . ."  
  
He was shaking. Bulma tried to touch him but he flinched back. He was staring at her, but she didn't think he was really aware who she was or that she was there.  
  
"And you were only five years old, and so Kami-forsaken lonely and afraid. . . your home and your family were gone and everything was strange and everyone was bigger and stronger than you. You felt such. . . fear and. . . sick despair. You tried not to think, not to show emotion, not to let them break you." He drew in great heaving breaths. "You learned not to feel. When you finally got out. . . you tried to pretend like it was nothing. But you weren't in control of your life anymore. Frieza was. He said what you did and who you killed and whether you died or lived and how hard you were beaten. And the others would just as soon kill you themselves. You couldn't trust anybody. You couldn't let your guard down. Ever.  
  
"And for months after I finally got out of the Pit, Frieza would call me to him and taunt me and tell me he'd kill me and my father and my people if I didn't do exactly what he wanted. He'd beat me and humiliate me and wake me up at odd hours and send me on purges constantly, mission after mission. And it seemed like I never got enough sleep or food and the faces of everybody I killed would float in front of me and I'd hear them scream and Nappa and Raditz would just say, 'That's what a warrior does. Are you a weakling or a warrior? A third-class or a Prince?' And nothing made any sense and I couldn't even say who I was. There was no meaning to me, to life, to anything. I just kept going so Frieza wouldn't be able to say he broke me. So many times I wanted to die but--I am a Prince and I had my father and my people to think of. And then. . . and then. . . they were dead, they were all dead, and all I could think was I would become stronger, I would revenge myself on Frieza. I would become strongest, and beat him at his own game, because the strongest rule. The weak can only obey. Strength is everything. If you're not the strongest, you might as well be back in the Pit because your life isn't your own and you exist to be used; you are no one and nothing and only when you're on top does the suffering and humiliation and punishment end. When you're the strongest, then you can. . . you can. . ."  
  
He was unable to weep. He desperately sought some sort of release, but there was none, because he had stopped his emotions up long ago.  
  
He clenched his hands against the bed so hard his fingers went through the mattress. He teeth were clenched, his eyebrows drawn down, his mouth scowling, his eyes completely lost, staring at me, staring, staring.  
  
He had no hope but to rise, no end to his pain-filled, degrading life but to kill Frieza and rise. But he hadn't risen, Goku had. And he was alive and living on Earth with no goal but beating Goku. That would bring him no further fulfillment or long-term satisfaction and that fact was just starting to sink in for him. But what else was there? He didn't know. Uncertainty and hopelessness, loneliness and emptiness, and the surety that no one cared, no one even noticed. It was a wonder he hadn't collapsed already.  
  
When he looked to the future there was nothing. When he looked to the past, dark pain and torment. That he'd had to deal with, over and over. Frieza didn't beat him to death. No. He beat him close to death, threw him in a rejuvenation tank, healed him, and let it all begin again. Of course he became obsessed with trying to break out of Frieza's grasp. To never let anyone use him again.  
  
He'd been a Prince. And then to be humiliated so. To try, and try, and consistently fail, to always, always be weaker, and impotent. It was a wonder he hadn't gone totally crazy.  
  
But he had been caught up in their belief. Strength is everything. The desire to, as he said, beat Frieza at his own game. To become the power. To be immortal.  
  
Yet he couldn't stop himself now, from crying out with the need of-- more. A reason to live. A need of--someone. Companionship. An end to the aching loneliness.  
  
And how to get rid of the guilt and shame? The sense of anguish and failure. The bitterness, the depression, the self-despising. For he did hate himself. He needed and lashed out at the same time, called and drove away.  
  
Would he let me get close enough to help him?  
  
"Vegeta," I said in the softest, most reassuring tone I could manage. But he still flinched again, as if expecting taunts and blows.  
  
It was a very interesting time to realize how much I was in love with him.  
  
"I'm sorry," I told him. "I care about you. Let me just *be* here, Vegeta. Let me be here for you. To listen, to love. You can trust me. I'll do whatever I can to complete you. Because I do, you know. You and me. Together. That's the meaning in life. Just fall on me, Prince. Let me love you."  
  
Frieza had broken him down and brainwashed him with deprivation and blows. I meant to convert him back with love and encouragement. Slowly, patiently. To love him, and uplift him. To give him strength and fulfillment, to meet his needs, to give him food and shelter, and fix his stupid gravity room. Patiently. Over time. To heal him.  
  
I smiled at him, wrapped my arms around him, and nuzzled my face up against his. I felt all his muscles tighten up as he watched me. Just looking at him with love, and holding him. And very slowly, he relaxed back down. He stopped scowling and clutching at the bed. He gave me his attention, dismissing all his dark memories again. He had amazing self- control.  
  
"You're the strangest woman," he said to me, his arms coming up around me, holding me closer.  
  
"I suppose I am."  
  
He drew me down onto the bed. We just lay there, holding each other, wind blowing softly through the window, with all the lights on, til we both fell asleep.  
  
It took a year and a half before we mated and marked each other but it was worth my patience. He still dreams about the Pit sometimes. But I'm there now. He's chased the dark away at last, and Frieza is finally beaten.  
  
  
  
A/N: OK, a little bit much, I know, but people are like that sometimes, even Saiyans. I actually read a fascinating article on brainwashing called "Rape of the Mind" and that forced me to write this. 


End file.
